


off-days

by rarestsenpai



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, I am very inconsistent with name spelling cause it changes with each fic I write lmao, I'm just gonna admit that writing this was really self-indulgent, M/M, Yuri visits the psychiatrist and Victor is supportive husband material™, Yuuri is spelt as Yuuri and Victor is spelt as Victor, and all that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarestsenpai/pseuds/rarestsenpai
Summary: Yuuri goes for appointment after appointment but he doesn’t get any better. The sessions are short, time speeding past with each soft tick, tick, tick of the clock in the psychiatrist’s office.He nearly cried tears of frustration the other day when Victor placed a soft kiss near his temple.





	

Yuuri dreads going to the psychiatrist.

 

He dreads the looks of sympathy he gets when he steps out of the elevator, dreads the loose swing of the doors leading into the reception, dreads the sharp white of the calendar which meets the dull beige walls from where it hangs.

He’s almost an hour early— _too early_ , and briefly considers heading towards the bathroom to wash his hands instead. The familiar chime of the elevator signals Yuuri’s arrival and he can feel the gazes from heads swivelling to look at him from the other side of the glass doors.

There’s a logical part within Yuuri that tries its best to soothe his growing panic, a small voice that tells him that all these people probably didn’t even care about him being there. They were all probably minding their own business.

Before he could hesitate any further, Yuuri realises that he is already at the front of the clinic’s entrance. His fingers pressing against cold glass as the door swings open. _It’s still better to be early than late_ , he tells himself firmly.

The clinic is as quiet as ever, his heavy footsteps muffled against the carpet under his feet and it does nothing but amplify the pounding in his chest as he makes his way to the reception desk.

“Good afternoon, do you have an appointment?”

Yuuri fumbles with the flimsy appointment card that he fishes from the pocket, fingers struggling to straighten out the folded edges against his sweaty palms before he passes it to the receptionist.

“…I have an appointment to see Doctor Suzuki.”

Yuuri’s voice is tiny, a palpable shame that sits on the back of his throat when he’s expected to speak. He waits for the receptionist to roll her eyes at him, to yell at him to _speak up._ However, none of those happen as he listens to the clicking of the keyboard and Yuuri worries for a second that he’ll have to repeat himself.

He doesn’t think he could possibly do it without his heart stuttering its way out of his mouth and crashing out onto the floor for everyone to see.

Thankfully, the receptionist eventually replies, “Your appointment is at 2.30pm? We’ll let you know when the doctor is ready to see you. Would you like to schedule your next appointment now or later, after today’s session?”

“Later.”

“Alright. Would you like to take a seat first?”

The receptionist slips a small smile onto her face as she slides Yuuri’s appointment card back onto the counter. For a second, he lets himself make eye contact, allows the nerves shaking through his entire body to threaten to spill over as he searches and _searches_ for a look of pity, repulsion-

He feels a flood of relief when he is fails to find anything of that sort and tucks the card back into his pocket quickly.

The waiting area is lined with cracked leather seats and people who probably feel just as cracked on the inside. They keep their heads bent over faded magazine pages or mobile phone screens, faces hidden from view and Yuuri is reminded that each and every one of them have a life outside of this small space he shares with them.

Yuuri could almost pretend that they were somewhere else—on a bus or perhaps a train.

He listens to music through his earphones, eyes trained on the scuffed toes of his trainers as he taps them against the floor. Victor had offered to come with him at the beginning but Yuuri insisted that he wanted to go alone. He tells Victor that this is something he has to do by himself.

(He couldn’t bear to let Victor worry anymore than he already does.)

“Katsuki Yuuri?”

The sound of his name rings out across the stifling air of the waiting area and Yuuri stumbles to his feet, wincing at how a few had looked up at him. He prays that none of them had recognised him.

Hastily shoving his earphones away, he makes his way to the room that the receptionist points towards. He takes a deep breath, knocks on the door and pushes it open.

Several months ago, Yuuri had set up his first appointment to the psychiatrist all by himself. Victor pulls him into bed that night, fingers threading through dark hair and pressed close enough that Yuuri can feel the low, comforting rumble of Victor’s voice against his ear.

“Things will get better from here on.”

Yuuri wants to believe it and so he hangs onto those words until he realises he can’t.

Victor always greets Yuuri with a gentle kiss on the forehead when he returns from the doctor’s. They talk about the simple questions from the doctor that Yuuri had answered and then they talk about the latest Instagram update from Phichit that day.

He goes for appointment after appointment but he doesn’t get any better. The sessions are short, time speeding past with each soft _tick, tick, tick_ of the clock in the doctor’s office. He barely hears _pills, medication_ and barely replies to even more simple questions about himself that lead them nowhere.

Yuuri knows he can be a huge crybaby, shedding tears at every goddamn opportunity he gives himself for goodness sake. It’s only laughable that in the presence of the psychiatrist, he stubbornly keeps the habit of staring down at his lap, ignoring the choked voice he speaks with and the urge to let his face crumple up. The doctor nods understandingly and pushes a box of tissues towards him but Yuuri keeps his hands clenched by his side, trembling from the effort. Instead, he occupies himself with the thought of how his horrible, horrible habit of keeping his head bent low was probably the main reason why he has those ugly prominent folds on his neck anyway.

He hates this, hates how things aren’t getting better with each visit. He only admits to his insecurities, even yells them at the top of his lungs, in his moments of exhaustion when he’s in front of Victor. But Victor, for all his attempts to help Yuuri in his own little ways, isn’t _enough_. Victor isn’t a trained professional and as comforting as his presence is, Yuuri just _isn’t_ going to get any better like this.

He nearly cried tears of frustration the other day when Victor placed a soft kiss near his temple.  

Yuuri is not good enough, not worth your time, not someone who can deliver so just give up on him because he’s so incredibly selfish. He worries too much and wallows far too much in his self-pity. He wants to be adored, to be told he’s done well and that everyone is _proud_ of him. 

He wants and wants and _wants_ to know if he’s hoping for too much because maybe he’s thinking too highly of himself. He’s plain and uninteresting and all he ever does is focus on the base of his skates striking against the ice as he throws himself into jumps. Who would ever want someone like _Yuuri_?

Yet for some reason, Victor is _here_. No matter how many times Yuuri blinks, Victor doesn’t disappear in a daydream or slip back into the many posters that now lay in a box at the back of his cupboard. Victor is _exhilaration_ and _challenge_ at the same time. He makes Yuuri forget for a second, lets him focus on the ice beneath his skates and the joy coursing through his body. He skates for his family and friends _and_ Victor and holds them closer to him each time he pulls his arms towards his chest in the choreography.

In those moments, Yuuri feels beautiful and amazing and _enough_.

All Yuuri needs of Victor is for him to stay as who he truly is and somewhere along the line, everyone echoes the words right back at him.

(Or maybe Yuuri just needed a reminder all along.)  

 

 

“You’re speaking more today,” the doctor notes during the next visit, “That’s a good sign.”

She must have noticed the confused look that crosses Yuuri’s face because she continues, “You were rather unresponsive when I first met you.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say so he nods.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh, I didn't plan on ever posting this fic because it was just a form of cathartic release for me. There's just something about having characters go through things you relate to so if this provides even the littlest bit of comfort to anyone, that'll be great. 
> 
> thanks for reading!!
> 
> you can always find me on [tumblr](http://sneakycharliesneaky.tumblr.com/)


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